


from the ashes, they arose

by yourbuckyb



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Poetry, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-02-10 11:38:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18659674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourbuckyb/pseuds/yourbuckyb
Summary: a collection of my poems inspired by steve, bucky, natasha and the rest of the avengers~endgame spoilers~





	1. here’s the truth you’ll find at the end of the world

here is the truth you’ll find at the end of the world

here’s the truth, she had nothing before she stood up and dusted herself off. a warrior, a fighter, a killer. children shouldn’t have to claw their way through childhood. a life made of unimagined grace and dysphoria. the world burned and she arose from it, born from thunder and battle, made to destruct and rise again. ashes to ashes, they should have named her the phoenix. 

here’s the truth, the garden of eden exists within her. the closest you’ll ever get to the genesis of creation is lazy words pooling on her lips. a smile made from war with eyes of ichor and ash. she’ll lay you down and whisper in your ear, “let me go, it’s okay.” and before you can say no, she’ll be gone.

here’s the truth, you woke up in a lake that stretched as far as your eyes could see and it still wasn’t enough. she wasn’t there and it’s as if the whole world could cave in on itself. her last words played through your head, you loved her too little and too late. it’s okay. you can let her go, let her be a ghost. 

here’s the truth, her’s was a beautiful death; the fall, the sacrifice. arms outstretched and the grapple of the world forgotten. you could almost hear the angels rejoicing, “finally, she’s our god again!” and i would rejoice, too, if she could have stayed. 

here’s the truth, she was made of marble. some things shatter when they hit the ground and reflect everything they were. and in the light above her shown your broken face, “there’s worse ways to go.” there’s worse ways to hit the ground and break apart into pieces. you let her go, you turned her to stone and you finally understood. there’s many ways a person can die but still be alive.


	2. a long winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this poem is loosely based off the not easily conquered fic series, it was also originally written in a word doc so the spacing and format is a bit messed up but it’ll work.

A Long Winter

We are paper bodies, thin and fraying at the seams. My fingers slipped through your  hand and I plummeted to a future worse than death. 

Winter got ahold of me, her perfect son, her most unholy ghost. I lay waiting at the hands of frozen snow, your face is burning in my memory. 

 

We are both burning, debris is falling around our bodies and it’s burning. Screaming words  I didn’t know I could utter and my throat is burning. Visions of a little apartment, feet  hanging over fire escapes, fireworks on the Fourth of July, my name in your mouth, your  hands in my hair, they all echo around my head and they’re burning. 

 

_Show is what you’re made of._  


I see warm blankets and a broken heater, oranges and  day-old bagels the same color as your hair. I  see fist fights in alleyways and your hands carving out another sketch. 

 

_Show us what you can do._  


I’m looking down the barrel of a gun, spraying bullets like the waves on our feet at the pier. Mud is caking my boots and your hand is on my shoulder. People lay to waste around us and you’re smiling. My fingers are  still on the trigger and they’re burning . 

 

_We will burn you alive._  


And you know I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.    
Then you’re there, the man on the bridge. The bridge I burned, tore to pieces, chewed up and  spit out and you’re there. And you’re saying my name like you’re whispering a prayer and  Winter is turning  in to Summer and I’m burning. 

 

_Show us what you’re made of._

I see little needles in my skin and licks of flame burning my arm .  There’s blood  pooling in my mouth and I feel my fingers slip through a hand as I fall off a train.  I think I’m screaming someone’s name and my throat is burning.

 

_Show us what you can do._  


I close my cold fingers around someone’s throat and this mask makes it hard to breathe. I  run through flames of fire and splinters of ice. This piece of machine spits out death like it’s a Sunday and I haven’t prayed in years. 

 

_We will burn you alive._

And there you are again, on Coney Island, in that little apartment, with charcoal pencil  dust on your hands and shoes stuffed with newspaper. I think I made promises to you and  I think I said I’m sorry. I’m so god damned sorry.


End file.
